


I'll be your daydream, I'll wear your favorite things

by gasmsinc



Series: roses (or the blackhawks mob universe no one ever asked for) [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Choking, Daddy Kink, Feminization, M/M, Nipple Play, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gasmsinc/pseuds/gasmsinc
Summary: “I’m just letting you know now that I’m going to Target tomorrow,” says Patrick, finally managing to get the toy out of the bag. He has to drop it immediately because of the pain in his hand. “I can’t be held responsible for what I buy, or for how much I spend.”“What do you need at Target?”“Things,” says Patrick.“Things,” repeats Jonny.“Mind your business,” says Patrick.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this seems out of place in mob au, but why create a universe if you can't create whatever the fuck you want in it?
> 
> dedicated to my girls lia and sheena <3
> 
>  **there is an nsfw picture at the end of the fic**.

Approximately two days after Patrick is allowed out of his cast he decides that his arm is _just_ strong enough to handle the distinct swiping motion of spending Jonny’s money.

“I thought you didn’t want to be my sugar baby,” says Jonny, peering up at Patrick from his desk, smirking. Patrick pouts down at him. His face is no longer bruised from Kesler’s fists, but there’s a scar on his bottom lip that will never go away. It’s made more prominent when he pouts.

Jonny feels guilty every time he sees it.

“I need to take Gretzky to the vet, and Stanley needs a new collar,” says Patrick. Jonny raises his eyebrows. Patrick rolls his eyes and says, “I _might_ want to do some shopping for myself.”

Jonny grins. He stands, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. Patrick takes the cards excitedly, only remembering briefly to lean over and give Jonny a kiss on the cheek.

“Please don’t spend all my money,” says Jonny.

“Okay, bye,” says Patrick.

Jonny doesn’t see Patrick for the rest of the day, but he does get notifications from his bank about Patrick’s spending habits. Patrick does go to the vet like promised, and to Petco, and then to another boutique somewhere in the city. It’s a pet boutique, where Patrick spends nearly six hundred dollars on things for their cats.

“Six hundred dollars,” says Jonny when he finally manages to see Patrick again. Patrick is surrounded by cats and plastic bags full of cat stuff.

“They needed it,” states Patrick as he shifts through the bags, pulling out expensive looking collars and grain-free, hypoallergenic wet cat food. The cats meow their appreciation.

“ _Six hundred dollars_ ,” repeats Jonny.

Patrick looks up at him, baby blues all wide. He’s having difficulty using his left hand to pull out a toy. He still has to go to physical therapy to build the strength back up in it. Sometimes when he coughs Jonny is afraid that Patrick’s lung has been re-pierced.

“Okay,” he relents, swallowing down a wave of guilt. Patrick suffered because of him. The least he can do is let Patrick spend unreasonable amounts of money on his cats.

“I’m just letting you know now that I’m going to Target tomorrow,” says Patrick, finally managing to get the toy out of the bag. He has to drop it immediately because of the pain in his hand. “I can’t be held responsible for what I buy, or for how much I spend.”

“What do you need at Target?”

“Things,” says Patrick.

“Things,” repeats Jonny.

“Mind your business,” says Patrick.

Jonny settles down on the couch. Stanley comes to him, jumping up to settle on his lap. Jonny scratches under her chin, admiringly briefly her new, pretty pink collar. “Spoilt brat.”

“Are you talking to me or to the cat?”

“Both of you, actually,” says Jonny.

Patrick turns, crawling on his knees so he can drape himself over Jonny’s, pressing his face into Stanley’s stomach. “Thank you for letting me spend six hundred dollars on the cats.”

“You’re welcome,” says Jonny, running his fingers through Patrick’s hair. He’ll make sure to transfer money over to the debit card tomorrow morning. Who knows what damage Patrick can do in Target.

 

\---

 

 

It turns out, Patrick can do a hell of a lot of damage when given a debit card with a grand loaded on it and a credit card with no foreseeable limit.

“I want to be surprised,” says Jonny when he arrives home on his lunch break.

His furniture is missing. Not all of it, but most of it. His dark couches have been replaced with ivory ones, with bright, blue and red and yellow pillows. His brown coffee table has been replaced with a darker one that sits on top of a white rug. There are _accents_ in his living room.

“Do you like it?” says Patrick just as Saader and Boller carry in white armchairs from the elevator.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” says Jonny.

Boller shrugs, setting down his chair. “Kaner needed our help.”

“I’m redecorating,” announces Patrick.

Jonny squints. The room looks—well, it does look _brighter_ , not so dark and gloomy. It looks like someone actually lives here. “I didn’t know Target sold furniture.”

Patrick makes a face. “Expect a call from Jordin in accounting about some extra charges to Arty’s business card.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s amazing how willing people are to help you at Ikea,” says Patrick.

“You said you were going to _Target_.”

“I did go to Target,” pouts Patrick, fixing a photo on the new bookcase Jonny hadn’t noticed until now. It’s a picture of Patrick and his sisters. Jonny has never met Patrick’s sisters, so he doesn't know why they’re on his new bookcase, but it probably has something to do with the fact that there are no pictures of him and Patrick together. “Where do you think I got the accents from?”

“Patrick,” says Jonny, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“The living room looks so much better now,” says Patrick, matter-of-fact, kissing Jonny’s jaw, baby blues all big and pleading. He changed the living room without consulting Jonny, but Jonny can’t be mad, not when Patrick is looking at him like that.

“The cats are going to ruin the furniture,” he sighs, kissing the top of Patrick’s head.

“We’ve talked about it,” says Patrick. “They promised not to scratch anything.” He grins, kissing Jonny’s jaw again. “Now, go away. I have more decorating to do.”

“And money to spend," mumbles Jonny.

“Go away,” says Patrick.

 

\---

 

 

Jonny stops paying attention to the bank updates.

Patrick is determined to redecorate all fourteen thousand square feet of the apartment, and Jonny lets him. It must be therapeutic to Patrick because his panic attacks are far and few between as he makes over the apartment and spends far beyond the amount of money that he should. Tootoo down in accounting isn’t too happy about the newfound expenses being charged to Arty’s company card, but it’s difficult for anyone to tell Patrick no.

“Just, no more using Arty’s card in Ikea, okay?” sighs Jonny after a long day and even longer night trying to track down three kilos of cocaine that went missing somewhere between Dallas and Chicago. No one actually knows where the cocaine is now, but that doesn’t matter—what matters is _who_ is responsible for its loss and who’s going to cover the cost. He was supposed to tell Patrick to stop using Arty’s company card hours ago, but it had slipped his mind sometime between yesterday and today.

He's been back and forth on the phone with Benn since the early hours of the morning. It’s six a.m. now, and Patrick is fussing around their newly decorated kitchen.

“You should be in bed,” he says, handing Jonny a cat. It’s Gretzky.

“I’m not tired,” lies Jonny.

“Let’s go to bed,” announces Patrick.

Jonny lets Patrick guide him back to the bedroom, and then lets Patrick undress him too, frowning when Patrick has difficulty getting the buttons to his shirt undone. He hadn’t realized how badly Kesler had broken Patrick’s hand until recently.

“Stop looking at me like that,” demands Patrick, crawling under the covers and dragging Jonny down with him. The devil creatures and Stanley slink their way in, curling up somewhere near their feet. “I hate when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” says Jonny, quiet, so very tired.

“Like you’re _guilty_!” snaps Patrick, but he doesn’t move, just lets Jonny stuff his face into his neck. “I know I can’t really use my left hand right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonny says into Patrick’s skin.

“S’okay,” mumbles Patrick, stroking the back of his head. “Just go to sleep, asshole.”

Jonny does as told.

 

\---

 

 

Patrick stops using Arty’s company card like promised, but he does continue to use Jonny’s credit cards to go on outrageous spending sprees that only seem to be made worse when Patrick is having a Bad Day™. The shopping is either therapeutic to Patrick and a distraction, or its Patrick’s petty way of trying to get back at Jonny once his mental therapy starts to get more intense and his sweet acceptance of what happened to him gives way to raging, boiling anger.

Jonny knew that Patrick couldn’t remain complacent for forever, so he accepts the anger, the accusing way Patrick screams at him when he fumbles with his left hand or becomes hyperaware of the scar on his bottom lip. Jonny leaves Patrick alone, tip-toeing around the apartment, making himself scarce but allowing Patrick to change whatever he wants and spend extravagant amounts of money. Most of Patrick’s purchases sit in the living room, collecting dust, like a visual reminder of how angry he is.

It takes weeks for Patrick’s anger to wane into something like mild annoyance. By then Jonny is emotionally exhausted but feels too guilty to tell Patrick that he’s had enough of his shit. He shouldn’t have to tip-toe around his own apartment, but every time he opens his mouth to tell Patrick this, he gets a mental flash of Patrick tied to a chair, chloroformed and on the verge of death. Patrick has every right to be vicious with him.

It’s Patrick who breaks the silence, clutching Stanley to his chest. “We can’t keep living like this.”

Jonny has prepared himself for this moment. He can’t leave the security of the penthouse, but he’s found other apartments where Patrick will be happy, and he’ll foot the bill as a way to say that he’s sorry.

“Stop making that face,” says Patrick.

“What face?”

“The face where you think that I’m going to leave you,” clarifies Patrick, clutching Stanley harder. Stanley meows. Patrick loosens his grip. “I’m not going to.” He takes a deep breath, setting Stanley down on the couch. “But we have to fix this.”

‘Fixing this’ consists of multiple hours of therapy, wherein Patrick spends a lot of time yelling and crying and making Jonny feel raw and open about a lot of things, and not just Kesler.

Jonny hates therapy because Dr. Rowlings tries to make him discuss his own life’s trauma. He doesn’t want to talk about any of that because he’s swallowed it down and learnt to cope with it the same way that everyone else in the mob has: by never addressing it. The point of their therapy sessions is to help Patrick, so Jonny shuts Dr. Rowlings’s unnecessary prying down.

Their joint therapy sessions aren’t a magical, fix-it-all solution, and neither are the anti-depressants or anxiety medications Dr. Rowlings puts Patrick on, but they do help Patrick’s anger at the situation simmer down. It slowly becomes easier to walk around the apartment and communicate, and Jonny will never be under the impression that Patrick’s PTSD will magical go away, but when Patrick starts having more Good Days™ than Bad™, he’s reassured that things will be okay.

Patrick returns most of the unnecessary things he bought that have been collecting dust in the living room, but he keeps the new furniture and accents. Jonny usually hates rapid change, but even he has to admit that the apartment feels different. It feels like a home, and not just a place where he sometimes sleeps. Patrick even takes it upon himself to paint the walls much brighter, but appropriate colors instead of the bland, white walls the apartment originally came with. The hardwood is ruined by the cats dipping their paws in the paint and then running off, but Patrick says it adds _character_.

Patrick stops using Jonny’s credit cards to make petty purchases to ruin his credit and only uses the cards to make extravagant purchases for the cats. None of the cats except for Stanley really deserve the grain-free, hypoallergenic wet cat food worth twenty dollars a pop each, especially not hell spawn like Deke or Puck, but taking care of his cats makes Patrick happy, and whatever makes Patrick happy makes Jonny happy by default. He lets Patrick have full access to his bank accounts and even has the bank send Patrick his own cards, decorated with cats.

He stops being surprised at Patrick’s twenty-six-dollar bagel purchases, too.

 

 

\---

 

 

It’s weeks before Jonny checks his bank statements again.

He trusts Patrick explicitly, but there have been times when he’s gone to purchase lunch only to have his card declined because Patrick had decided to go to the pet boutique only hours before, or made very generous donations to the local animal and women’s shelters. Jonny will never be mad at Patrick for his charity, but it’s embarrassing to have his card decline in front of Mayor Smith.

Jonny only means to check if there’s enough money in his checking account to buy lunch for the sixth floor, but his eye gets caught on one particular transaction. It’s not the amount that throws him off because Patrick drops copious amounts on bagels and ice cream—it’s from _where_ the purchase was made.

Unless Patrick has a secret girlfriend, or a weird, unhealthy relationship with his sisters, there’s no reason he should be shopping at Victoria’s Secret.

Jonny scrolls back, realizing that there’s been several purchases from Victoria’s Secret and other luxury lingerie stores over the past few months. He's _sure_ that Patrick isn’t having an affair, and doesn’t have one of those weird relationships where he buys underwear for his sisters. A gift card for Victoria’s Secret? Maybe? But multiple times when Jonny’s sure it isn’t a Kane sister birthday? No.

Someone has probably stolen the card information, which isn’t a big deal. It’s happened before, and the organization often cuts off cards, switches banks, and uses offshore accounts to keep the IRS and CRA from snooping around.

Jonny takes it upon himself to cancel the cards, shooting off a quick text to Patrick to let him know that no, he can’t take the cats to Petsmart to spoil them, even though they definitely don’t deserve it.

Patrick is very pouty when Jonny gets home, shoving Zamboni into his face. “She’s unhappy, Jonny.”

“She’s a _cat_.”

“Yes, a very _unhappy_ cat, Jonny. We had an appointment with the groomer.”

“At _Petsmart_?”

“Don’t be judgmental,” says Patrick. “There are plenty of amazing groomers at Petsmart. But we wouldn’t know that because we weren’t allowed to go.”

Jonny raises his eyebrow. “You do still have access to your own bank account, you do know that, yeah?”

Patrick huffs, stroking Zamboni’s back.

Jonny kisses the corner of his mouth. “You’ll get a new card in a few days, darling.”

“We’ll starve by then, Jonny.”

Patrick is being a dramatic fool, so today must be a Good Day™. Jonny leans over, kissing him softly. Patrick makes a sweet noise into his mouth, dropping Zamboni gently. He looks placid when Jonny pulls away, eyes soft.

It’s easy for Jonny to pull him onto the couch in the living room, Patrick settling comfortably on his lap. They sit quietly, Patrick playing with Jonny’s hand, using the fingers of his left hand to massage Jonny’s palm. He’s put as much work into his physical therapy as his mental, and his effort is paying off. He might never be able to grasp objects as well as he did before the attack, but the hand isn’t completely useless. “Why’d you cancel the cards anyway?”

Jonny sneaks an arm around Patrick’s waist, leaning back against the back of the couch to rest his head. “Someone stole the information.”

“This is the mob, Jonathan,” drawls Patrick. “I expect better.”

Jonny rolls his eyes even though Patrick can’t see. “Sometimes information gets compromised at Victoria’s Secret.”

Patrick tenses. “At where?”

“Victoria’s Secret,” repeats Jonny, snorting. “Whoever stole the credit card information liked to shop at Victoria’s Secret, and a lingerie shop called the Cats Meow.”

Patrick goes stalk-still. Jonny can hear it when he swallows. “What’s wrong?”

Patrick goes quiet. Jonny feels his breathing start to get panicky. “Patrick?”

“No one stole the credit card information,” says Patrick, voice high with anxiety.

It’s Jonny’s turn to go quiet and still.

“No one stole the credit card information,” repeats Patrick, fingers playing anxiously with Jonny’s hand. “I—”

“If you bought your sisters lingerie with my credit cards—”

“I didn’t buy it for them!”

Jonny’s brows come together, confused. “For your—”

“If you say any word that starts with ‘m’ I’m going to hurt you.”

Jonny licks his lips, feeling his own heart sinking. “For a girlfriend?” he asks, quiet.

Patrick whips his head around, almost hitting Jonny’s nose in the process. His eyes are large, mouth wide open. “Are you cheating on me?” asks Jonny, unable to feel anything but a sudden, choking, sadness.

“ _No_!” shouts Patrick, scaring Gretzky off the end of the couch. He stands, looking absolutely miserable as he takes Jonny’s hands in his own. “I would _never_.”

“Then who did you buy the lingerie for?”

“I’ve given you everything, so you can’t—you can’t judge me for this, Jonny.”

Jonny sits, staring, bewildered, until realization finally dawns on him. “Oh,” he says, and then, “ _oh_.”

Patrick is looking anywhere but at Jonny’s face. He’s ashamed, Jonny realizes, and that’s never an emotion he wants Patrick to feel around him. He slips his hand free from Patrick’s hold, only to reach out and hold Patrick by the hips. He pushes his thumbs under Patrick’s shirt, rubbing them over the smooth expanse of skin there. “Explain it to me.”

“Jonny—”

“Do you like to wear it?” he interrupts. He pulls Patrick to him until Patrick is straddling his lap. He looks less nervous, less miserable as he settles down. “The lingerie, I mean,” Jonny clarifies.

Patrick won’t look him in the eye. He looks at Jonny’s chin, at his nose, but never in the eye. Jonny grasps his chin, forcing Patrick’s eyesight up. “I’m not judging you, okay?” he says it honestly, because he’s not. He doesn’t think he could judge Patrick for anything, especially not after the atrocities that he’s committed. He’s murdered men in cold blood before. Patrick knows that, and still loves him.

Jonny’s never really been into lingerie, not on any of the women he’s dated and fucked, and it’s never really crossed his mind before that men wear lingerie, but it’s Patrick. Every little thing that he does has Jonny’s dick jumping to attention. “Why don’t you show me?”

Patrick sucks in a surprised breath. “Jonny.”

“Let me see,” he demands, slapping Patrick’s ass. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but there’s something in him stirring at the thought of all of Patrick’s smooth, white skin, highlighted by a pair of pink panties. “Do you have pink? I want to see you in pink.”

Patrick stares down at him. “You’re not—please don’t be fucking with me.” He looks desperate, like he needs Jonny to accept him.

“What did I just say?” says Jonny, slapping Patrick’s ass again, loving the way Patrick jumps and gasps. “Let me see.”

“Don’t boss me around,” says Patrick, and then takes a deep breath. “Give me an hour.”

“An hour?” Jonny squeezes his ass, dick starting to get with the program when he imagines Patrick’s plump little ass in a pair of panties.

“I have to get ready,” whines Patrick, his anxiety seeming to finally slip away. He grinds down into Jonny’s lap, getting that cocky, sweet look on his face. “One hour, I promise.” He stands up, stepping away before Jonny can grab him.

“What am I supposed to do for an hour?”

“Feed the cats,” calls Patrick over his shoulder as he makes his way to their bedroom.

As if on cue, the cats start to swarm.

 

 

\---

 

 

Feeding the cats does take the better part of an hour because all of them are horrible, including his girl Stanley. They swarm like lions, hissing and batting at Jonny’s ankles as he tries desperately to fill their individual food bowls. He eventually gives up, just leaving multiple cans open and letting them fend for themselves.

After that he sort of just twiddles his thumbs, waiting impatiently.

Finally, when the hour is over, Jonny doesn’t wait for Patrick to call for him. He just walks right into their bedroom, prepared for whatever he finds.

As it turns out, Jonny is _not_ prepared for what he finds.

Patrick’s done what Jonny’s asked of him: he’s found a pair of pink panties. They’re a soft pink, with little white bows right on his hips, and if that weren’t enough, Patrick’s also found a lacey pink bralette to match. Jonny’s mind would have short-circuited there, but Patrick’s also managed to pull on a pair of white stockings. Jonny needs a minute to breathe.

“Jonny?” says Patrick, voice high with anxiety again. His lips are pink from lip gloss. Jonny thinks that he’s wearing mascara. “Do you like it?”

Jonny stares.

Patrick doesn’t look like a girl. He might be slender, all runner’s body from chasing after cats, but he’s still masculine. But Patrick doesn’t look like a man stuffed into a pair of panties or bralette, either. He’s just Patrick, looking shy and wary, in a pair of pink panties and thigh-high white stockings, pink little nipples perky through his bralette.

“I’ll just go change,” he says, wrapping his arms around his chest self-consciously. “I’ll return everything tomorrow.”

“Hey, no,” says Jonny, snapping out of his moment. He closes the distance between them, cupping Patrick’s face with his hands to kiss him. Patrick’s lip gloss tastes like strawberries. “I just wasn’t expecting _this_.”

“This?” repeats Patrick, against Jonny’s lips.

“You looking so fucking _hot_ ,” clarifies Jonny.

Patrick smiles. “Of course I look fucking hot, it’s _me_.”

Jonny laughs. He kisses Patrick again, deeper this time, hands sliding down to cup Patrick’s ass. Patrick moans against his mouth, grinding himself up against him as Jonny slides his fingers over his ass, feeling the soft cotton. He slides his fingers under the material, sliding his fingers across Patrick’s perfect ass.

“Do you really like this?” Patrick asks when they break for air. He searches Jonny’s face, eyes wide and trusting.

“Fucking love it,” says Jonny, pulling his fingers free from Patrick’s panties to slap his ass. Patrick jumps, laughing, looking giddy in Jonny’s acceptance.

He pulls away from Jonny, acting more like his cocky self as he turns around to waltz over to the bed. Jonny feels weak in the knees when Patrick puts one knee up on the bed, bending over as if to crawl onto it, ass on display like a _slut_.

“You’re awful,” says Jonny, hungry for Patrick in ways that he’s never been. It’s like a gravitational pull that has him following Patrick, sliding up behind him to run his hands over Patrick’s ass, spanking his right cheek just because he can. “You’re a naughty little slut, aren’t you?”

The words slip out without much thought, but Patrick moans, arching his back. They should probably talk about this, but Jonny leans over Patrick, fitting his cock against Patrick’s ass. He’s still dressed to the nines in his black trousers and white-button up, cuff-links done up neatly. “You’re Daddy’s naughty little slut, aren’t you, baby girl?”

The noise Patrick lets out makes Jonny feel dizzy. It’s a soft keen, so pretty coming out of his pink mouth. “Daddy,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Jonny.

Jonny pulls back. Patrick has both knees on the bed, ass high in the air, looking at Jonny from under his eyelashes. They’ve barely even started, and he already looks debauched. Jonny’s not going to last.

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Jonny, undoing his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up. He could undress, but he feels more powerful still dressed like the boss. He can just pull his cock out of his trousers and push Patrick’s panties to the side to fuck him.

“The things you do to me,” breathes Jonny, running his hand over Patrick’s right ass cheek. He’s always loved Patrick’s ass, ever since the moment he first really saw it, once they got rid of that hideous suit he dared to wear. His ass looks even better now in a pair of panties. “How many pairs do you have?”

Patrick readjusts his weight onto his elbows. “I could wear a different pair every day of the year if I wanted to.”

Jonny’s breath hitches. He slips his fingers under Patrick’s panties, pulling them aside to expose his hole and taint. He needed an hour, Jonny realizes, to make himself smooth. Jonny doesn’t have a preference either way, but Patrick all smooth and shaved up for him makes the allusion of him being Jonny’s baby girl a little bit more real. He shoves a hand between Patrick’s thighs, feeling the skin there. It’s smooth, too.

“Baby girl,” says Jonny, running his thumb up and down Patrick’s thigh. “You made yourself all pretty for Daddy, didn’t you?”

Patrick nods, adjusting his weight, pulling his knees higher on the bed. “Daddy, _please_.”

“Tell me what you want,” says Jonny, taking Patrick’s underwear and sliding it down over his thighs. Patrick spreads his legs, panties getting caught around his knees. Jonny wants to take a picture, but he’s too afraid of it getting into the wrong hands. No one deserves to see Patrick like this but Jonny.

“What do you think I want, Daddy?” purrs Patrick.

Jonny slaps his ass, loving the way the fat jiggles. His ass is turning a wonderful shade of pink to match his panties. “Tell me what you want,” commands Jonny.

Patrick whines, glaring over his shoulder. “I want your dick, asshole.”

Jonny lifts his eyebrows. Patrick sighs, licking his lips. “ _Daddy_ , I want your dick in my tight little pussy.”

“ _Fuck me_ ,” curses Jonny.

Patrick laughs. He wiggles forward until he can turn himself over, lifting his legs into the air to show off, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his panties, tugging. His stockings are still perfectly in place, and somehow, despite the new position, he looks even more sexy and debauched.

Jonny leans forward, nipping the soft skin at the back of Patrick’s knees playfully. He takes the panties from Patrick, pulling them off his legs and throwing them into a corner.

“ _Daddy_ ,” whines Patrick, hooking his knees over Jonny’s shoulders. “Don’t tease me.”

“You’re the tease,” says Jonny, tipping forward, spreading Patrick’s legs. Patrick is hard, cock leaking against his belly. The juxtaposition between his hard cock and his nipples in his little bralette sends a thrill down Jonny’s spine.

He ignores Patrick’s cock, instead running his thumb down the crack of Patrick’s ass to his hole. Patrick is dry. “I don’t make you wet, baby?”

“Your mouth can make me wet,” suggests Patrick, batting his eyelashes innocently at Jonny.

Jonny shakes his head amusedly, but he pulls Patrick down the bed until he can rest comfortably on his knees on the floor. Patrick grins at him, reaching between his legs to push his fingers into Jonny’s short hair. “You’re too good to me, Daddy.”

Jonny kisses at Patrick’s thigh, smiling, before he kisses Patrick’s hole, smirking at the noise he makes. “Daddy,” Patrick breathes, moaning when Jonny flicks his tongue out to tease. “Daddy, _please_.”

Jonny sighs, loving the way Patrick tastes, the little noises he makes as he gets eaten out. Jonny switches between long strokes and short flicks of his tongue, and when Patrick stops making sweet noises continuously, Jonny pushes his tongue in. Patrick moans, thighs shaking under Jonny’s fingers where he’s keeping him spread open. “ _Daddy_.”

“Baby girl,” says Jonny, pulling away. Patrick whines his displeasure, tightening his fingers in Jonny’s hair. Jonny laughs, sticking a finger into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick glares, but he wraps his lips around the digit, bobbing his head like a dirty whore giving a blowjob. Jonny watches, groaning, squeezing his cock through his trousers. He won’t take his cock out, not until Patrick’s all wet for him.

Jonny pulls his finger from Patrick’s mouth. “Grab the lube.”

“Bossy,” mutters Patrick, but does as asked, reaching under the pillow for the lube as Jonny slides his spit-covered finger into his hole. Patrick cries out, thighs shaking, arm stretched out above him. “Asshole,” he says.

Jonny laughs, working his finger in and out, watching the way Patrick’s lips part and his cock leaks. “You’re so pretty, baby girl,” he says, leaning forward, finger slipping deeper, kissing Patrick’s nipple through the bralette. Patrick makes a wrecked noise; his nipples are always so sensitive. The lace of the bralette must be some sort of torture.

Jonny bites Patrick’s nipple, chuckling when Patrick cries out, arching his back against Jonny’s mouth. Jonny kisses the bud in apology, before he flicks it, pulling his finger out and pushing it back in.

“Fuck,” says Patrick. “Daddy, _fuck_.”

“Give me the lube,” demands Jonny, breathing the words over Patrick’s nipple.

It takes Patrick a moment, chest heaving up and down, but he finds the bottle, handing it over.

Jonny covers his fingers in copious amounts of lube, allowing it to dribble down Patrick’s crack to pool on the bed.

“Don’t ruin the sheets,” says Patrick.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “You can buy new ones.”

“These were on _sale_.”

Jonny squints at him to show his disbelief and annoyance.

Patrick pouts.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” mutters Jonny. He sighs, still unable to understand how the universe decided that someone as ridiculous as Patrick could be his entire life and soul.

“Daddy,” says Patrick, grinning like a fool when Jonny glares at him. “Daddy, c’mon, _fuck me_.”

Jonny groans, not sure if he’ll ever be over hearing Patrick call him ‘daddy’. He glides his fingers up and down Patrick’s crack, liking the way Patrick twitches, before he pushes two fingers in, knowing that Patrick can take it. Patrick seizes up, back arching, breathing through his nose.

“Don’t act like this is too much,” says Jonny, even though he’s keeping his fingers still. “You’re a fucking slut.”

“M’not,” mutters Patrick, sighing, whole body going lax.

Jonny smirks, working his fingers in and out, giving Patrick the bare minimum because he _knows_ that Patrick likes the feeling of being split open on his cock. He pulls his fingers out when Patrick stops looking impressed.

“Fucking slut,” says Jonny, fond, as he undoes his button and zipper, pushing his underwear and trousers down just enough to free his cock. He groans, using the leftover lube to jack at his cock, peering down at Patrick, who looks filthy: pink bralette askew, hole shiny and wet, but his stupid, lovely, white stockings still perfectly in place.

“Daddy,” purrs Patrick, spreading his legs wider. “Daddy, please, _please_ , I want your cock in my pussy.”

“Fucking Christ,” curses Jonny, grabbing Patrick’s thigh in one hand and using the other to line his cock up. He pushes in, feeling Patrick’s rim give and give, Patrick keening under him until Jonny bottoms out, pelvis up against Patrick’s plump ass, his zipper probably leaving a print in Patrick’s skin.

“Daddy,” breathes Patrick, body taut, knees bracketing Jonny.

Jonny breathes through his nose, needing a moment, vision swimming at how tight Patrick feels and how good he looks split open on his cock.

“Baby girl,” he drawls, and then sits up, fingers digging into Patrick’s splayed thigh. He doesn’t give Patrick any time to comprehend anything, just starts fucking in, feet braced on the hardwood, his other hand reaching up to twist Patrick’s nipple. The noise Patrick makes knocks the air out of Jonny’s lungs, but he keeps fucking in, watching the way Patrick twists, mouth open wide, tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Little slut,” says Jonny, twisting the nipple again, angling his hips until he hears Patrick make a choked noise. “Desperate for my cock.”

“Daddy,” moans Patrick, reaching down to fist his wet cock. “ _Daddy_.”

They should talk about this, really talk about this, but Jonny reaches up, wrapping his hand around Patrick’s throat to squeeze. Patrick lets out a choked little gasp, back arching, knees tightening around Jonny.

“Naughty little slut,” continues Jonny, sweating, putting his back into it, feeling his balls tighten. “Didn’t even let me change out of my work clothes before you were begging for my cock.”

“Always want your cock, Daddy,” says Patrick around Jonny’s hand.

Jonny’s holding Patrick’s thigh hard enough to bruise. He squeezes Patrick’s throat again, applying more pleasure, hips stuttering when Patrick gasps. He has to let go of Patrick’s throat, too overwhelmed by the way Patrick looks and feels around his cock.

“Patrick,” gasps Jonny, reaching down to grasp Patrick’s cock, trying to jerk his cock to the rhythm of his hips, but he’s too distracted, Patrick’s dumb bralette slipping to expose his nipple. Jonny dives forward, wrapping his mouth around the bud, licking and sucking, fucking into Patrick over and over again, Patrick’s rim so perfectly loose now that it’s so easy to fuck him.

“Come for Daddy,” Jonny demands, moving on to the other nipple, tugging it between his teeth. “Come for me, baby girl.”

Patrick keens, whole body going taut, seizing up, and then he comes and comes and comes, tightening around Jonny’s cock like he wants to make it hurt, painting his belly and Jonny’s fist with come.

Jonny goes mad after that, biting at the space between Patrick’s sweet little tits, like he can’t control himself, and Patrick just moans under him, chanting “daddy” like a fucking whore until Jonny can’t take it anymore. He comes, slamming his hips in, burying his face in Patrick’s neck.

He stays there, shirt soaked through with sweat, feeling like his orgasm was ripped out of him.

“Jonny?” Patrick says eventually. “You’re crushing me and my leg is cramping.”

Jonny snorts, sitting up, dragging his cock out slowly. Patrick’s a mess: blonde curls plastered against his head, nipples pink and swollen, rim all red and leaking come, and those damn, damn stockings still so perfect.

“Fuck,” laughs Jonny, unbelieving.

Patrick breathes, grinning. He looks so happy and pretty, totally debauched.

“Don’t hide things like this from me,” says Jonny suddenly. He tugs at his shirt, popping the buttons, not caring. He swallows. “I don’t want you to hide these things from me.” He means more than just the sex, but is unable to form the words. He thinks Patrick gets it though, because Patrick makes grabby hands for him, impatient for Jonny to finish undressing.

Jonny crawls into bed, feeling worn. Patrick wraps himself around Jonny immediately, like he always does. “Daddy,” he giggles, laughing when Jonny slaps his ass. “Thank you.”

“I fucked manners into you,” ponders Jonny.

“Fuck you,” says Patrick, making no move to clean himself up or remove his bralette or stockings. If he wants to stay in them for forever, Jonny will welcome it. “You know why I’m thanking you, old man.”

Jonny rolls his eyes, kissing Patrick’s cheek, ignoring the fact that because of Patrick, he now has to bask in his newfound kink afterglow with cat hair in his eye.

 

 


End file.
